


Ian's the Devil & Mickey's a Fucking Sweetheart

by Archangelsings



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Cursed!Mandy, Cursed!Mickey, CursedfreakingMilkovichs, DevilChild!Ian, M/M, Magic!Ian, Mickey hates the color red, Paranormal AU, SemiModernesqueAu, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Tags to be added as we go along n' shiz, because why the fuck not, gratuitous use of the word fuck, i doubt it'll be super bad? But it will be to me?, magical au, see what i did there?, sort of ingrained homophobia, to a degree.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangelsings/pseuds/Archangelsings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's cursed and Ian's the devil incarnate. 'Nuff said right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah this is something that's been sort of sitting here for a while... I don't really know if this is any good, or if anyone would really want to read it... but figured I'd post it anyway. If enough people like it I'll probably continue it if not welll.... LIVE AND LEARN YEAH? So please comment, kudo, review etc. Future chapters (if there will be any) will be longer. This is sort of the testing the waters pilot if you will.
> 
> Character's will prob be a lil' OOC. It's kind of awkward writing ingrained homophobia considering I actually am gay... it's this sort of weird like irony where I feel like it's actually right if I feel offended writing it? Odd I know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door was fucking red. The shittiest fucking red. A bright ass fucking neon eyesore that drilled through his eyes and made his head pound. God, Mickey couldn't help but want to rip the damn thing off its hinges.
> 
> (Note there has been a mild edit made to this chapter that plays a semi-important role in Chapter 3 so do note that)

The door was fucking _red._ The _shittiest_ fucking red. A bright ass fucking neon _eyesore_ that drilled through his eyes and made his head pound. _God,_ Mickey couldn't help but want to rip the damn thing off its hinges.

  
He didn't even know why he was here to be honest. Everyone knew crossing over to the prim and perfect Northside was like walking up to death and not just asking him for a god-damned kiss but for a full on fucking _make-out_ session. _Total_ suicide. And _Mickey'd_ kiss the first guy he saw on the street if anyone in this pretentious ass neighborhood actually believed some grubby kid from the Southside seriously belonged here.

  
Yet here he was. Standing in front of some nondescript magic shop at the end of a surprisingly clean alleyway in the dead of Chicago winter, a flurry of snow at his feet and a raggedy scarf wrapped around his pale neck.

Mickey clenched his fists and clutched at the rumpled piece of parchment in his hand. He was probably a dumb ass for keeping it, let alone actually following its instructions but hey Mickey never claimed to be a genius. He was just a dumb kid who did stupid shit from the Southside and anyone who told you otherwise was a liar and probably trying to get you killed.

The paper had randomly appeared on his nightstand late one night while he was using the bathroom, and well that was probably the creepiest shit he'd ever seen, but here he was. It crinkled in the icy wind, blowing up a faint woody scent, and the dark neat penmanship that inked it's surface stood out a startling black with only a name.Well. More accurately _two_ names. _Bravatos and Gaudy._

Above his head swung a sign, the words _Bravatos and Gaudy's Wonder Emporium of Mythic Wonders_ etched into its facade, the wood almost black with age. Its rusty chains squeaked in the wind and glinted a dull russet bronze in the muted glow of the moon. He looked back down at the paper in his hand. This must be the place.

Mickey scratched his chin and scoffed at the name. _Fuckin' gay as fuck._ He exhaled--air billowing out in a frosty white wave in front of him like wisps of cigarette smoke--and reached into his pocket, feeling around for the lock-pick that he knew he'd stashed in there before leaving his home. Grabbing them he squatted in front of the door. _That damn red door._ And set them on the snowy ground beside him.

  
"Gonna be fucking in n' out," he grunted, rubbing a dirty thumb against his lip and eyeing the lock with a look that bordered on trepidation. Not that it was. Because Mickey wasn't--didn't get scared of shit. Not even that creepy ass movie with the killer girl in the T.V. What was it called again? _The Ring?_ His life was a horror movie enough.

His bony shoulders peeked out through the thin wispy fabric of his shirt like small jagged spikes. He shivered against the cold, cursing himself for forgetting his jacket. Every Southsider knew how bad Chicago winters could get and being a Milkovich only made that fact even more well known. It was branded in his skin like another tattoo. Etched into his mind with a marker he just couldn't erase...

Mickey shook his head and coughed, his dark bushy brows drawing together into a frown as he rubbed his hands together.  _Don't be a god-damned pussy_. His hands shook, the black ink of his F-U-C-K-U-U-P tattoo standing out even more against the stark white of his skin. Icy-blue eyes glared back at them. " _Yeah, n' fuck you too."_

  
He shouldn't have been this nervous. He'd done his research--been casing the joint like a good little Milkovich since sundown. No one was going to be going in or out but him. He knew that. He knew when the light upstairs went out and he knew when the last guy had left for the night. Ten-o'clock. Nearly two hours had passed since then. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing.

  
Just in and out. Simple right? Yeah. Standard Southside procedure. He could do this.

  
Taking one last quick look around, Mickey jammed the pick into the door.

 _Jimmy--jimmy--jimmy--twist--turn--turn--jimmy a little more and_ \--

"You know darling, as cute as you are, most people would find it _terribly_ rude to have a stranger rob them."

Mickey jumped and the pick snapped in half-- _How the fuck--? A_ mumbled _shit_ escaped his lips as it cut a thin line across his thumb. He turned, hands still guiltily hanging onto the door-knob, his eyebrows reaching his hairline in surprise. How'd this old queen get up behind him? 

"I mean, that was what you were planning to do wasn't it?" The person continued in a soothing, airy sort of light voice, accented just faintly with some sort of twang Mickey couldn't quite place. "Rob me that is?"

Mickey stared blankly and his lips twisted into a bitten grimace, but didn't respond. Like fuck was he going to incriminate himself further. He'd been arrested enough times to have the fucking Miranda Rights drilled into his head for life. _You've got the right to remain silent. You've got the right to an attorney. Blah, Blah, fuckin' blah._  

The old queen sighed and tried again, resting a hand on her hip. She noted the thin shirt Mickey was wearing. "You must be cold," she murmured in an airy sort of calming voice. She tapped a finger against her chin, and hummed to herself before clapping her hands together and brushing Mickey aside, "come inside."

Mickey blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Well I certainly have no intention on having this conversation out in the frigid cold darling," she stated dramatically, twirling her flamboyant pink scarf around her neck, "and it'd impolite to go against a ladies wishes."

Mickey frowned but made no move to follow.

"If that's not enough motivation for you well... you know what they say about the Northside. Those without the Blood can find it full of terrors," she gave him a steady look, and Mickey felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, "even for someone of your... unique standing."

"How'd ya--?"

"I know many things Mickey and I really do think it's best we continue this inside. I may just have the answer you seek."

Mickey was tense. Tense in that way he got whenever something bad was about to happen. He didn't like that kind of tense. "Who are you?"

She smiled and gestured grandly. "I am Madam G. Curator of the Arts of Light here. And welcome to my little shop of wonders."

 


	2. Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey didn't know exactly what he had been expecting when he walked through the Emporium's doors, but it hadn't been this. This... fucking... quaint shit. Because that's what this place was. Quaint. Homey almost, full of little knick-knacks and thingy-ma-bobs. Warmly lit with faint candles in little golden holders in the corners. It was fucking unassuming, and he had to stop for a second, noting the modern looking cash register resting idly on the counter. The display case full of other little oddities he didn't even begin to fucking know the names of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah re-uploading this chapter cause it apparently didn't like register that I'd done it and well... I WOULD like more than 2 people to read it. Anyone who's already read it. there are no changes. Yeah. Enjoy to anyone new. P.s SORRY I LIED. THIS CHAP ISN'T LONGER.
> 
> Important Note: For those who read Chapter 1 before I posted this chapter. There's a new paragraph in it that acts as a bit of foreshadow for something that happens in the next chapter. Just know that Mickey had found a magically enchanted piece of paper with instructions on how to get to the Emporium on his nightstand that led him here and you'll be good.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING KUDOS AND BOOKMARKS AND COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED. LEAVE ME A THOUGHT A CRITIQUE ETC.
> 
> Currently Un-beta'd all mistakes are my own. Isn't that just grand?

Mickey didn't know exactly what he had been expecting when he walked through the Emporium's doors, but it hadn't been _this_. This... fucking... quaint shit. Because that's what this place was. _Quaint._ Homey almost, full of little knick-knacks and thingy-ma-bobs. Warmly lit with faint candles in little golden holders in the corners. It was fucking unassuming, and he had to stop for a second, noting the modern looking cash register resting idly on the counter. The display case full of other little oddities he didn't even begin to fucking know the names of.

It was surprising. When he thought of the Northside, he thought of magic and mystery. Of darkness and secrets. He thought of cobwebs and old crones with gritty cackles and warted noses. Not shit like this. Not a well kept little hole in the wall shop like the one he was in. Not even a speck of dust on the lowest shelf.

"You don't get out much do you?" Madam G observed with a faint chuckle, draping her scarf across the counter and gently stroking the mahogany veneer, "might think you'd never been in a store before."

"Fuck off," he shot back, with a furrowed brow and pursed lip, walking the rest of the way into the store. Madam G flicked her wrist and the door closed behind him. Mickey stiffened,  _when did he even relax in the first place?_ He couldn't risk being fooled by appearances. No matter how kind or unassuming any of this shit looked, in the end he was still a Southside thug up to no good on the Northside. There was nothing to stop this old queen from turning him in. Or worse.

Madam G drummed her fingers against the counter-top. "Are you always this pleasant? Or is it just me?" she drawled and began walking to the other side of the store. It was pretty fucking clear she didn't expect an answer, but still, even if she had Mickey was damn sure he wouldn't have given her one. The young Milkovich watched her with narrowed eyes as she moved. 

"I'm just closing the curtains is all," she said as she reached the window, "no need to glare me to death. I figured you of all people would appreciate the privacy," she pulled at the strings and the curtains tumbled down, "besides this is the Northside, you can never be too sure there ain't any prying eyes around. Rude people always trying to get into people's business and things."

Her voice was calming to hear and even he could feel himself relaxing under its spell just as his mind screamed not too. _Never trust a stranger. Never let down your guard. A Milkovich never showed mercy._ Like butter or syrup, it was smooth and warm and sweet, its subtle twang just spice to keep things interesting.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was some form of that fruity mumbo-jumbo crap magic in itself. If even now she was weaving a spell on him, something to make him more malleable to her words and wishes. He probably wouldn't know the answer to that until it was too late if she was. So it probably didn't even really matter. All he was was a normal kid from the Southside with a little bit of a magical problem. Besides his curse, he was about as magical as a rock in a rock garden. Or something like that. He needed to work on his metaphors.

Madam G closed the last of the curtains and clapped her hands together, turning to face him. "Now. Shall we get to business?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah in terms of length I see the story starting to get longer at around chap 4. That's where we'll finally be done with all this like world setting, plot grinding, introductory shiz and get to the nitty gritty bits that finally actually have Ian. Chap 3 will be "The Deal" and there will be a little interlude-esque chapter that has some Milkovich sibling bonding love, and then onto Chap 4 where I'll actually start explaining how to get to the Northside and setting more visuals for the city as it is for this world :p. And Ian. He's officially introduced then. Literally.. At the end. We see him and the chapter's going to end. Most likely. Chap five will have the first real interaction (sorry if that seems kinda slow) But yeah that's a basic timeline of whats to come. Again I'm going to try and do semi-daily, daily uploads but... as we can see I'm really bad at doing that and yeah. Anyway THANKS FOR READING KUDOS AND BOOKMARKS AND COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED. LEAVE ME A THOUGHT A CRITIQUE ETC.


	3. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh how terribly rude of me, you don't mind if I smoke do you dear?" Madam G asked and Mickey shook his head, "Care for cig?" She placed one in her mouth and held the pack out to him. Mickey swallowed the last of his sandwich, smacking his lips together and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
> 
> "I'm from the fuckin' Southside, the fuck you think's the answer to that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I actually posted in a day. Be proud lovelies! AND I THINK THIS CHAPTER'S MARGINALLY LONGER!!! WE'RE STARTING TO PICK UP STEAM!
> 
> Warnings: Mild Homophobic slurs and Mickey-esque language

Business, as it turned out, meant sitting in a plush back office drinking tea. Fucking _tea._ Now Mickey wasn't one to judge... but _tea?_ That shit was for pansies and fags, no ifs ands or buts about it, and there was no way in hell he was touching the shit. Mickey eyed the cup warily. It was probably going to be too sweet or spiked with some magical shit anyway. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if it decided to tell his future. Wasn't there something about tea leaves and divination or something?

Mickey grimaced and shifted in his seat, pushing the cup away from him. He couldn't get comfortable. The seats were too soft, the arm-rests too fancy, the walls too clean. He felt like a black sheep in a room full of white, or maybe like a green thumb in a desert--was that how the saying goes?--like any move he made would taint the very ground he stood on.

Madam G merely gazed at him, sipping from her cup slowly, as Mickey struggled with the chair that looked like it was slowly devouring him, before setting it back down with a light clang. Her dark skinned hands coming together in front of her on her desk. Her light brown eyes looking slightly bigger from behind her glasses.

"Not a fan of tea either are you darlin'?" Madam G began while pushing a platter of small sandwiches towards him, the move wasn't subtle at all, but Mickey wasn't one to turn down free food.

He nodded while stuffing his face, crumbs falling messily to the table with each bite. If Madam G thought something of his table manners, she didn't show it. She simply reached into a desk drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes.

"Oh how terribly rude of me, you don't mind if I smoke do you dear?" Madam G asked and Mickey shook his head, "Care for cig?" She placed one in her mouth and held the pack out to him. Mickey swallowed the last of his sandwich, smacking his lips together and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm from the fuckin' Southside, the fuck you think's the answer to that?" He took one from the pack, "Got a light or somethin'? I ain't got shit."

Madam G snapped her fingers and the tips of their cigarettes flared to life. She inhaled deeply and let it out with a long sigh, the room beginning to fill with the cigarettes unique scent. Mickey placed his own in his mouth and followed suit. He almost coughed on the first breath.

The taste was different from what he was used to. Fuller, less dulled, and more... woody? Earthy maybe? He inhaled again. Had a bit of a fruity aftertaste.

"Fancy shit," He mumbled, eyebrows raising in appreciation.

"Mmm, yes home-made you know, get the tobacco delivered, smoke n' dry it, roll it all up and viola a little dose of paradise," she inhaled again, "isn't that right deary?"

Mickey rolled the cigarette between his fingers for moment, before inhaling again. He let out a grunt in response.

Madam G stubbed out her cigarette with a sigh and clapped her hands together, "so back to business?"

Mickey leaned back in his seat. Now this was something he understood. "Business then."

"You got the note we left you?"

Mickey reached into his pocket and tossed the rumpled piece of paper onto the desk. "Ya mean this? Cause that shit was creepy, next time leave it on the porch or somethin'."

"Mmm, duly noted," she flattened the parchment on the desk and waved her hand over the ink, the words slowly swirling together into one black mass in the center. Madam G began to speak, "now darlin' Mr. B and I, well--we like to give back. Well I suppose the more accurate statement would be, _I_ like to give back and Mr. B is simply too _madly_ in love with me to refuse my glaring feminine charms," she chuckled to herself like this was some sort of long time joke that Mickey failed to understand. Which he didn't. _Who the fuck was Mr. B?_ , "anyway my well _talent_ I suppose you could say is a sort of _Sight_ if you will, more specifically seeing the future of those in _need_. I can't control what I see or when I see it, but when I saw your face well...," she reached across the table and clasped Mickey's hands in her own, "I just _knew_ I had to help! You're affliction is so heartrendingly tragic! Cursed as a death-bringer to all in your path and unable to die yourself--," she sat back in her chair and wiped a stray tear from her eye, "well darlin' that's simply awful! Truly awful!"

Mickey blinked and swiped a thumb over his lip. "So you're saying ya want to help me or some shit? For free? Cause fuck that, I ain't nobody's charity case." _A Milkovich owed no one._

Madam G smiled softly and shook her head. "No deary, I'm not saying we'll do it for free. As much as I wish I could, even with both Mr. B and myself, the laws of magic have to be upheld," she waved her hand in the air, "equivalent exchange and all of that hullabulloo, like physics?" she paused, " _For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction._ Magic at it's source breaks all of those rules but at the same time none of them. In the end balance must be restored. Fix a window here, a window must be broken somewhere else. Start a fire here, a fire goes out there. If that rule isn't upheld then the ley lines and all sorts of things get rather screwy."

"So what I'm here for is to offer you a Deal. A magically binding contract that will let me," she pointed to herself then Mickey, "help you," She placed her hand on the parchment and the ink settled, "this is where my services prove to be most useful. Usually for even attempting to get a curse like yours off your little body it would require at least one death, but as I am a Curator of the Light, such a sacrifice goes against the very things I believe in. So I can cut you some slack. All you have to do is work for us here in the Emporium, and I'll take care of the rest. What do you say hmm darlin'?" She slid the paper back at Mickey.

Mickey stared at Madam G incredulously. "You bustin' my balls? A Southsider like me workin' up here in this fancy shit hole? No fuckin' way! Ain't happening." He stood up and bodily shoved the chair out of his way, "Fuck it, this was a waste of my god-damned time."

Madam G quickly stood as well and grabbed Mickey's arm. "Let go," he growled, mouth set in a thin line.

Madam G spoke fast. "It's a good Deal you know," her eyes bored into Mickey's own, "you go anywhere else and they're bound to ask for an arm and a leg and not give you shit else in return!"

Mickey glowered and wrenched his arm out of her grip. "Well that ain't none of your business now is it?" He threw open the door and began walking back towards the front of the store.

"Just think about it will you?!" Madam G called from behind him.

Mickey flipped her off and walked out the front entrance. Back into the cold. And back to the world of guns and knives he knew as home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welll then! That took a turn. I didn't actually plan on having Mickey turn down the offer at first, but that's just sort of how it wrote itself, soooo it looks like Ian's introduction might be pushed back a little (sorry peeps). Just the more I looked at the type of person Mickey is in this fic the less likely it seemed like he'd just be all "yeah let's work for this lady who knows a shit ton about me and has shady magic on her side" Anyway LIKE ALWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOYED! AND COMMENTS KUDOS AND ALL LIKE THAT ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!
> 
> Also any questions on how magic works in this universe feel free to ask! I hope Madam G's explaination made sense


	4. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The fuck you been asswipe?"

Mickey was fucking dead on his feet by the time he got back to the shit-hole he called home. All he wanted to do, all he could really _contemplate_ doing right then was climbing through his ratty window, curling up on his rock hard bed and fucking sleeping until Ragnarok. Or the rapture. Whichever the fuck came first.

He glanced at his phone--almost three--and crossed the street, shoving his hands into his pockets, and bowing his back against the chill. He walked quickly, taking the few strides it actually took to cross and stepped back up onto the cracked sidewalk,  pocketing his phone as he made his way across the littered front yard of his house.

Mickey quickly hoisted himself onto the window sill of his room, climbing up the stumpy tree next to it to reach it, and tumbling inside with a dull silence-breaking thud. He winced and rubbed the back of his head from where he hit it against the wall with a mumbled curse. Here's to hoping no one was awake to hear--

"The fuck you been asswipe?"

Mickey tensed and whipped his head around to his bed. His alarm clock glaring neon green numbers and filling the room with a sickly sort of glow. "Mandy?" he hissed, "the fuck you doing here?"

Mandy shrugged, twirling a few strands of her dark raven locks around her finger and leaned back on her elbows, the mattress sinking marginally with her weight. "Don't know. Saw you trying to be all sneaky when you left the house. I just want to know what's up." She looks at him with piercing eyes the shame icy blue as his own.

Mickey shrugged and pursed his lips, running his thumb across them, eyes glued to the poster just beside Mandy's head. "Nothin's up. Just had this shitty fuckin' interview to go to," he huffed. It wasn't the whole truth but it wasn't really a lie either. He didn't feel too bad telling it to Mandy, the only one who ever seemed to honestly give a shit about him, "probation orders and shit."

Mandy raised a brow and laughed. "You expect me to believe that shit? Come on Mickey, no interview is gonna take twelve fucking hours!"

"Shhh, for fucks sake Mandy, ya wanna wake up the whole god-damned neighborhood?!" Mickey hissed moving his arms in a _shut the hell up_ kind of way.

"Then tell me what the fuck's really going on!"

"Just drop it! Ain't nothing to know okay? Deal fell through! Mess was way too shady to fly by my PO now get the fuck out and get some sleep!" There was no need for Mandy to know where he'd been. There was no reason for Mandy to know anything that could incriminate her, cause god fucking knew that if things went south that she'd try her damndest to make sure Mickey got out of it, and that shit wasn't going to fly.

"Fine, don't tell me," Mandy sucked in a breath and glared at her brother from across the room, "just know I don't believe a single fucking thing you just told me, and this isn't over," she stood up and made her way to the door, pinning him with a look to let him know she was serious. "night douchebag," _Love you._

"Get the fuck out skank." _Love you too._

Mandy nodded and slipped out into the hall and Mickey walked over to his bed. Falling face first onto the hard springy mattress with a heavy sigh, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Within moments he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we have the first interlude (don't you love the sibling bonding?) and the conclusion of the sort of plot setter for this story. Now we shall enter the middle phase of the first part in which Mickey begins to debate going back to work for the magicians of the Northside~ Fun stuff. Fun stuff. The next few chapters will be pretty Mickey heavy as well. Sorry to all those awaiting Ian. Don't worry. The time will come! Anyway. Please comment, kudo, subscribe but seriously leave comments. those make me very happy. Let's me know I'm not posting into the void :x  
> -Archy

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. That's the sort of prologue if you will :p Enjoy! comment! kudo! etc. Unbeta'd All mistakes are my own. I have another gallavich one-shot up already and if anyone wants me to do another feel free to like... leave prompt ideas or something. In case this doesn't work out. I need more to get my writing gears working. I'm terribly rusty atm.
> 
> P.S: I'm a little annoyed this isn't at least 1k words.... JUST 20 MORE ADFLSDFJAFLK


End file.
